


The Tale Of The Amazing Technicolor Gravecoat

by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Molly May Be Gone But His Coat Is Not, Redemption, Stories Have Power, Storytelling, Who Lives Who Dies Who Tells Our Story?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 17:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15667560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/pseuds/Angel%20Ascending
Summary: Adelina Colfer sized up the crowd at the Dancing Deer with a practiced eye as she took a gulp of ale to quench her parched throat. The bard had already told two stories to the packed common room, and had earned more than enough coin to stop for the night if she wished. Still, she hated to leave it at just two stories. Boots came in a pair, and socks, and pants, but she felt stories were best told in threes or not at all. Her audience, patrons driven to seek shelter during the snowstorm outside still looked attentive, and it was still early enough in the evening that no one was yet terribly drunk or looked like they were about to fall asleep. But what story to tell?“Has anyone here heard the tale of the amazing technicolor gravecoat?” Adelina asked, her voice carrying all the way to the back of the room.A bard tells a tale in a crowded tavern, not knowing that a group of renowned adventurers are listening....





	The Tale Of The Amazing Technicolor Gravecoat

Adelina Colfer sized up the crowd at the Dancing Deer with a practiced eye as she took a gulp of ale to quench her parched throat. The bard had already told two stories to the packed common room, and had earned more than enough coin to stop for the night if she wished. Still, she hated to leave it at just two stories. Boots came in a pair, and socks, and pants, but she felt stories were best told in threes or not at all. Her audience, patrons driven to seek shelter during the snowstorm outside still looked attentive, and it was still early enough in the evening that no one was yet terribly drunk or looked like they were about to fall asleep. But what story to tell? She had already told two tales from the far off continent of Tal’Dorei, The Clockmaker and the Bear and The Goliath and the Angel, both of which had been received quite well. Her third tale should be something that matched the tone of the others, nothing frightening or sad, not on a night so close to Barren Eve, not on a night filled with snow. Snow… ah yes. Of course.

“Has anyone here heard the tale of the amazing technicolor gravecoat?” Adelina asked, her voice carrying all the way to the back of the room.

There was a general murmur and shaking of heads from all except for a group of seven folks of various races sitting in the back, who were suddenly all staring at her. Something about the sight of the group of travelers tickled something in the back of Adelina’s memory, but she pushed the thought aside for the moment. She had her audience’s attention, and that was too precious to waste.

“Once, many years ago, on a day very much like this one, when the snow was falling and the wind was blowing fiercely, a poor half-elf traveler down on their luck was walking down the Glory Run Road. They had been set upon by bandits during their travels, left badly beaten on the side of the road, but somehow had managed to gather up enough strength to get up after the bandits had ridden off, and they had hoped to find someone to help them. Alas, a snowstorm had blown in soon after, and there were no other travelers along the road. The poor half-elf was freezing and had just resigned themselves to their possible death when they thought they saw the shadow of a figure standing just off the road. In desperation, the traveler called to them, but the figure did not answer, only stood there in silence.

“With not much else in the way of options, the traveler drew closer to the figure and realized that what they had mistaken for a person was instead a most bright and colorful coat hanging on a stout branch sticking out of the ground. The ground around these objects was clear of snow for several feet on all sides, and in the patch of earth grew a circle of mushrooms of a curious lavender hue.

“Now the half-elf knew a grave when they saw it, and they knew magic when they saw it as well. If their circumstances had been better they would have avoided the spot entirely, if only out of respect for the dead. Still, there was no snow falling on the grave, and the wind that was blowing hard all around them did not seem to touch the coat.

“‘If there is a spirit here,’ the half elf said, teeth chattering. ‘Please know that I mean you no disrespect and no harm. I am just a poor traveler down on their luck, and I will surely die if I do not take shelter.’

“Only silence greeted their words, and so the traveler stepped inside the circle of mushrooms. Sure enough, no snow fell on them, and the howling wind did not touch them. The poor half-elf nearly wept in relief. Still, they were still cold, for although the air in the space was untouched by weather, it was also neither cold nor warm and the traveler’s clothes were soaked through and they had no coat to speak of. They looked at the coat hanging in front of them, which seemed to be made of silk and embroidered with the holy signs of various deities of both good and lawful bent. Surely, the half-elf thought, someone who had gone about wearing the symbols of the gods had to have been a good person who would not have begrudged a traveler the loan of their coat?

“‘Spirit, if you are here, please do not be offended and let me borrow your coat, for I am half-frozen and I fear I shall perish without it.’

“Only silence greeted their words, and so they donned the coat which was much warmer than a silk coat that had been hanging outside should have been. Upon putting it on, the traveler felt warm and relaxed, and the pain of their wounds faded, and they felt so relieved and exhausted that they immediately curled up on top of the grave and fell fast asleep.

“In the morning when the traveler woke, the first sight that greeted them was an apparition of a lavender tiefling with eyes that glowed red in the dawn’s light. The traveler thought that their life would be ended then and there, but the spirit, far from vengeful, only smiled at them.

“‘I am always glad to see my coat get some use, for it does me good no longer,’ said the tiefling, and his voice was full of kindness and good humor. ‘You are not the first to borrow it, nor will you be the last. While you wear it you will always be warm, and you shall find always find a coin in your pocket when you need it.’

“‘Oh thank you kind spirit!’ The traveler said gratefully. ‘I promise that once I am safely home that I shall come back as soon as I am able so that I may return your coat to you!’

“The spirit only chuckled. ‘No need for that. My coat will always find its way back to me, so that others may borrow it as you have done. I wish you good use of it, and safe travels, my friend.’

“With that the spirit vanished and the traveler went on their way and it was just as the spirit had said, for the traveler was always warm and when they reached into a pocket of the coat a gold piece would appear under their fingers. Once the traveler had returned home and was safe and secure once more, the coat vanished.”

Adelina took another sip of ale as she surveyed the crowd once more, her gaze drifting to the seven folks in the back, still trying to place how she might know them. There was a blue tiefling woman among them who was smiling and looking teary-eyed, maybe in sympathy for the dead tiefling in the tale.

“Now normally this is where the story would end, all happily ever after and neat as you please, and yet still there is more. Months later, while the half-elf was conducting business in town, they were once again attacked, this time by a thief wearing a very familiar coat. Just as the thief pulled out a short-sword, surely intending to rob and kill the half-elf, the thief screamed, dropping the sword and clutching at their head as the coat vanished from her body. The half-elf ran for his life, saved twice over by a coat they had found marking a grave at the side of the Glory Run Road.

“As for what happened to the thief? Well, some say that she died there on the street, or that she spent the rest of her life as a raving madwoman, but neither of those things are true. She walked away from her life of crime that day, and set out to learn a trade that would bring happiness to the lives of others. She had no skill with any instrument, and her singing voice was only passing fair, but I think she became a very fine storyteller, don’t you?”

************

Adelina had just finished her supper when the barmaid brought over a tankard of ale that she hadn’t yet ordered.

“I was told to tell you that the Mighty Nein send their regards and wish to speak with you, if you’d be so kind.” The barmaid said.

Adelina’s hand froze halfway to the tankard. _That’s_ why the group of travelers had seemed familiar. Near every bard in Wildemount knew more than one story or song about the Mighty Nein, slayers of the Iron Shepards, the cleansers of the  Savalier Wood, the ones who had rooted out the corruption in the  Cerberus Assembly and brought down the Cult of the Caustic Heart. The group had members of various races scattered across the continent, but most of the stories agreed that the core of their group were seven folks: two humans, a goblin who often went disguised, a blue tiefling, a firbolg with unusual pink hair, a half-orc and an aasimar. Exactly the group who were sitting in the back of the room.

“Tell them I shall be along in a moment,” Adelina said, tipping the woman well for her trouble before drinking half the tankard in a few swallows to try and calm her nerves. What did the Mighty Nein possibly want with her? They couldn’t have been offended by one of her stories, they wouldn’t have bought her a drink if that had been the case. Did they want to commission her? Recruit her for some task?

Adelina fixed a smile on her face that she hoped didn’t betray the fact that her heart was pounding nervously in her chest, and with a firm grip on her tankard to keep her hand from shaking she walked over to the table where the seven sat.

“Good evening to you all,” Adelina said casually as she dared. “I thank you very much for the ale, storytelling is thirsty work. I was told you wished to speak with me?”

The half-orc, Fjord if she remembered the stories correctly, smiled back at her, a friendly smile not diminished at all by the points of his tusks. “We just wanted to ask you some questions about one of your stories, if you don’t mind,” Fjord drawled. “Please, sit down.”

Adelina sat down in the only space available left at the table, next to the blue tiefling woman, Jester, who beamed at her.

“I loved the story about the clockmaker and the bear!” Jester said, her eyes shining. “That’s not what we want to ask you about, we wanted to ask you about Molly’s coat, but I wanted you to know I liked your other stories too.”

“Yeah, your story about the coat,” said the dark skinned human woman, Beau, who wore an expression that Adelina could only describe as both sullen and hopeful. “Is it true? Or just something you made up after seeing a coat hanging from a grave by the road one day?”

Adelina felt a headache beginning to form as the group looked at her, something hopeful in all their expressions now. The headache was like a faded echo of the pain she had felt that day, years ago, when she had drawn her short-sword to attack a half-elven person on a deserted street. There had been a voice in her head just before she had drawn her sword, a warning ignored, an admonishment that had later become her creed. _You should leave the world better than you found it._

Adelina nodded. “It happened, I swear it. The first part of the tale I got from the half-elven traveler themself once I tracked them down to apologize. I’ve since heard stories of other people who have found and worn the coat, some who have met the spirit themselves, others who have claimed to have been given fantastical visions from eating the mushrooms that grow on the grave.”

The firbolg, Caduceus, smiled and gave a soft little chuckle. “Yeah, they’ll do that,” he said and exchanged what seemed to be a knowing look with Beau.

“But his coat wasn’t magic before,” said Nott, the goblin who was, in Adelina’s estimation, poorly disguised as a halfling girl. “Right Caleb? When we first met him you cast the spell that lets you detect magic, and there was nothing magical about him.”

“His coat was not magic then, no,” said the ginger-haired human sitting across from Nott. He reached up towards what Adelina had thought was an orange scarf until the “scarf” lifted his head and purred, revealing himself to be a cat who had been draped across Caleb’s shoulders. “But there are stories about such things, mundane items taking on aspects of their owners after they have… passed on. I would not be surprised if his coat had managed to somehow acquire his generous nature.”

“Wait, are you saying that you knew the original owner of the coat?” Adelina leaned forward, more excited than nervous now. “That is a story I would like to hear.”

“It’s a long story,” Fjord said.

“Not long enough,” Caleb replied. He shared a glance with the rest of the group, and for a long moment there was silence.

“His name was Mollymauk Tealeaf.” The aasimar, Yasha, was the most intimidating looking person in the whole group, yet her eyes, one violet, one blue-green were so sorrowful and her voice was so soft in contrast to her tough looking exterior. “Molly to his friends…”

**************

And so it was that the tiefling known as Mollymauk Tealeaf was remembered, through the stories spread by Adelina the bard, stories that were in turn picked up by other bards, made into songs, upbeat and catchy and seldom solemn, that spread among the people as quickly as the stories had. Molly’s name was sung in taverns and whispered in alleys and murmured when a little luck was needed, or a bit of bravery. There was magic in stories and songs, magic that not only affected the living, but the dead as well.

But that is a tale for another time.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a story I've been trying to tell since days after Molly died, and could *not* get to work at all, probably because that week I had written like, three stories about Molly's death and was feeling depressed and terribly burnt out. Still, I wanted to write about Molly's coat. Originally, at the end of "Forever Hold This Over Your Head And In Your Heart and On Your Sleeve," it ended with what happened to Molly's coat, how Beau ended up passing it along to other adventurers, and how stories started being told about the coat and all the people who wore it. Then I wanted to make that a story of its own and it just. would. not. work. So I tossed the idea in my "To be worked on" folder and left it.
> 
> Then, after episode 30, after two hours sleep and one cup of coffee, I started thinking about what would happen if Molly's coat became a magical item. I wrote up a description on my phone during carpool and wrote about half this story in the library after work.
> 
> I like to think that Molly is chilling in the afterlife and having hot makeouts with Vax and crossover adventures with Lup and Barry and Kravitz (why yes I enjoy The Adventure Zone very much thank you) but occasionally comes down and makes appearances to people who show up at his grave and touch his things.
> 
> Here's my original write-up for Molly's coat, written at I think 5am on two hours sleep and a cup of coffee, with no access to a 5th ed DM'S Guide and having never made a magic item before. 
> 
> Mollymauk's Wondrous Coat: warmer than it has any right to be. Once per day the wearer can reach into a pocket and find one gold piece. Contains mild sentience. If taken by someone down on their luck of true neutral alignment or above, stays with that person until no longer needed (or certain conditions are met, see below) and then vanishes, returning to the grave of Mollymauk Tealeaf. 
> 
> If taken by a character of an alignment of Lawful Evil or lower, coat still works as above (because everyone deserves a second chance) until the character does an evil or immoral act (stealing from the innocent or unnecessary violence against another person kind of thing) at which point the character hears a voice snarling something at them in Infernal and then takes 2d4 psychic damage before the coat vanishes and returns to Molly's grave.
> 
> In the story I changed the snarling in Infernal to the admonition to leave the world better than you found it as a final warning before the psychic damage, but you get the idea.


End file.
